


Graffiti My Walls

by calrissian18



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-16
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-04 17:39:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4146813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/calrissian18/pseuds/calrissian18
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek keeps moving.  Stiles enjoys the new canvases.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Graffiti My Walls

**Author's Note:**

> I don't KNOW, you guys. I juuuust wrote this on my lunch break and it's as fluffy as, like, well... dinosaur feathers. (YES, I STILL HAVE DINOSAURS AND ALPHA DEREK WITH HIS RAPTOR PACK ON THE BRAIN, I'M SORRY.) I saw a gifset of the train car on tumblr today and had the thought: 'no way would Stiles be able to resist drawing on _that_.' So. Here I am. I'M NOT PROUD.

Derek lives in the ruins of his old house.

He rolls his eyes over tightly crossed forearms, huffs.  “Go  _home_ , Stiles.”

Stiles purses his lips, flourishes the charcoal-tipped piece of wood he’s dragging along the floor.  “Almost finished,” he proclaims, wishing he had red for the eyes of the hulking shape of the Alpha werewolf he’s colored in dark, dark black.

Derek looks down at it too, brows pinching.  “Stop drawing on my floors.”

“Aww, did I ruin the hardwood?” Stiles says sarcastically and puts a big ‘X’ through the monstrous image while Peter’s body smolders outside.

* * *

Derek lives in a train depot, with a literal, actual train car in it.  Stiles takes full advantage.

“What are you doing?”

Stiles startles.  Looks down at the marker in his hand, looks up at the Wooly Willy eyebrows all angry-bunched on Derek’s brow line.  “Keeping a record.”

“ _What_.”

Inflection, Derek will get it one of these days.  Today is clearly not that day, though.  Stiles reiterates that to the part of his brain that is trying to make a point of this.  “See, there was the kanima.”  Stiles points at the crude image of a giant lizard and the stick figures of himself and Derek treading water in the high school’s pool.  Next to it is a big bubbly heart filled in with shiny black paint, which was actually Isaac’s blood and hadn’t dried red like it was supposed to.  Stiles blames Isaac for that.

“Then the vampires.”  Stiles points to where he’s doing the bro-fist thing with Sparkly MacBadblood while stick figure Derek scowls behind him and stick figure Scott cheers.  There’s also a picture of a visor and a six pack.  Vampires were real dude-bros as it turned out, easily lured away with promises of a frat house two towns over and a perpetual beer pong tournament.

“Then the kraken.”  That’s just him and stick figure Derek frowning while goop drips off them.  Next to it is a firecracker.

“Now the faeries.”  He and the stick figure pack all have spiral crazy eyes and stick figure Danny is off nearby leaning over a laptop screen.  All it really took to appease them was a website with a chat feature and some serious encryption surrounding it, though Stiles still insists they’d seemed thrilled enough just to learn what Google was and they could’ve coasted from there.

Derek sits next to him in the vinyl seat of the train car, dour expression on his scowly face, and growls, “Stop graffiting my walls.”

“Yeahhhhh,” Stiles rolls his eyes, “because it was  _real_  homey before that.”

* * *

Derek lives in a loft.  It’s got real walls.  It’s also got a big hole in one of them.

Stiles feels comfortable making line art with glitter pens of erlkings and leprechauns and all the other beasties that supposedly live in caves around it.

“This is a  _real apartment_!” Derek yells at him from the kitchen, eyes closed and mouth pinched like he’s in pain, or begging for patience.  Or both.

“It’s not real when it’s crumbling down around you,” Stiles yells back, undeterred.  He adds a few more glitter dollops to the harpy’s nails.

* * *

Derek lives in a house.

Stiles spends a full day searching it for structural damage, slumps down on the porch when he doesn’t find any.  Derek waits until the rest of the pack’s gone – the sting of back-slapping and the echo of, ‘congratulations,’ left in their wake – to sit down next to him and say, “I have a driveway now.”

Stiles stares glumly down at his untied sneaker.  “Yeah, you’re a real wolf now.  Congrats or whatever.”

Derek looks uneasy for a second, shifts his weight so the step groans beneath him and clears his throat.  “There’s sidewalk chalk in the garage,” he says unevenly.

Stiles perks up eagerly.  “Really?”

Derek shrugs uncomfortably.  “You only seem to want to come around when you can mark something up so I thought—”

“You thought you’d make sure I _wanted_  to be here,” Stiles finishes giddily.  Because maybe—just  _maybe_  Derek also—“Ever wonder  _why_  I want to leave my mark all over the places you live?” Stiles says slowly, like he’s speaking to someone who’s taken a blow to the head recently.

Derek’s eyes widen.  “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh,’ ya dingus.”  Stiles laughs brightly, unsteady hands gripping at Derek’s forearms, pulling him in, a welcome warmth greeting him as their mouths slot together in a perfect fit.

* * *

Derek wakes to Stiles snuffling drool and snot onto his bicep, curled into him, a warm, welcome weight.

He also wakes up to big block letters spelling out, ‘ **S T I L E S** ,’ in the waistband of all of his underwear.

**Author's Note:**

> [real world escapism.](http://wellhalesbells.tumblr.com/)


End file.
